Betting On a Big Heart

I never suspected she could become another man's whore. A stranger's
whore. A man she knew for a day. Yet she knelt in front of him and licked
and sucked his cock as I sat nearby tied to a chair. He was an intruder,
and he chose our home as a refuge.

-*-

My God, does she have to look so hungry for it? Does she have to behave
like this when she strips and bares her tits for him? Discarding her
panties and flaunting her shaved pussy as though she wants me to see,
wants me to know that she doesn't care? I can't stop looking at it. Those
lips that swell and turn bright red when she's naked with him? The slick,
juicy slit that never seems to stop begging for his cock? Was she like
that for me, under the covers, in the dark? Maybe? But she's spread and
dripping for him in the daylight. Like he ordered her to do. But she
can't like it, can she? Does she really want to service him again and
again in front of me? No! Of course not. Must control my imagination and
fears. Fears that he might be actually seducing my wife.

-*-

He was already here when we woke that morning. I could hear his voice
before I opened my eyes. I could hear her muffled answers through the
hand clasped over her mouth. Was I dreaming? When I found them his gun
was against her head. I saw it first, then the tattooed arm attached to
the thick-fingered fist. He held her from behind, her neck arched back
and to the right. Her plaid flannel nightshirt rose over her bare thighs,
then higher as she struggled. She kicked at the cold tile floor with her
bare feet until he pulled her more tightly against him. Then she just
stopped, her eyes wide with terror, her body strangely frozen in place.
Her nightshirt climbed higher as he stretched her backward, her lower
belly now taut and pale in the morning light. The tangled thatch of
soft hair between her legs still showed signs of our lovemaking from
the night before - obscenely parted, matted here and there with the
crusty remains of my semen.

-*-

Watching her put her mouth on him is disorienting and surreal. They're
doing it in front of me as I watch from my chair. Her lips and tongue are
everywhere. His neck, his nipples, then down his belly to the tip of his
cock. She washes his balls with saliva, soaking them till they shine.
Does she have to look so eager? Her eyes are so bright and adoring. Her
body slides over him like some hungry reptile trying to shed its skin.
And she always spreads her legs to show me from behind, just below her
perfect ass, that her pussy is open and drenched. God, it's just gaping
now. Little spasms twitching down her inner thighs as she works on him.
She doesn't say a word to me. Is she really begging for it? He's so
damned big.

-*-

He made her tie me when he broke in, his gun trained on us. She fumbled
with the rope from the garage. Wrists. My ankles. He checked her knots
and tightened them. He made her promise to behave, and she did. He told
her she was pretty, stroked her hair, her arm, and took her hand. "I'll
need a girlfriend while I'm here." She stared at the carpet, trembling.
"I - I can't." He said he'd persuade her, and not to be afraid. Unless
she refused. She nodded, never looking up. "OK," her voice soft, like a
little girl. He liked that, and pulled her closer and kissed her on the
mouth. She resisted. Then she opened her mouth to him. She didn't even
fight when he put his hand up under the nightshirt. For an instant I
wondered if she liked it.

-*-

He wants her naked all the time now. She doesn't seem to mind. Tied in my
chair, staring at her pussy is hard. It's so naked and pink. Pretty. He's
telling her again - "you have the prettiest pussy..." She soaks in his
words and smiles. Is it real? Real smiles? Real sloppy kisses? He does
this all the time. Kisses her. Fingers her. Pulls and twists her nipples.
In front of me. Showing off. Showing her off. She never looks at me. I
wonder what that means. He's fucking her doggie-style now, three feet
away. Pounding her. Grunting. Telling her what a whore she is. His whore.
Her head is lowered, her face hidden by a sheet of chestnut hair. It
parts for a second, shimmering as he slams into her. Her eyes are closed.
Her mouth open. Cheeks flushed. I strain to hear her gasp or moan, even a
little. She's silent. Obedient. Submitting to his huge cock. Does she
like it? Impossible.

-*-

He took her to bed the first night. I listened from my chair, but he
closed the bedroom door. I knew he would fuck her. I knew she had to
submit. I spent the night wondering how often he took her. Raped her. Or
would he be gentle at first with his new girlfriend? An odd wish. Be
gentle fucking my wife while I'm tied up. Treat her like she's your
girlfriend so it isn't rape. Then my growing fear - that she'd play, that
she'd like it. She didn't scream. It was quiet behind our bedroom door.
Crazy images of her swooning when he entered her, clutching him,
spreading her legs wide for him, over and over. Afraid, guilty, but
wanting more of him. But no. Would she? No. Maybe? No. Did I hear her
moan, just a little? No.

He's doing it again now. I hate when he plays these word games. I hate
when he makes her play like this. It's sick.

"How 'bout that fucking orgy last night? Bet you never did that before.
You loved all of it, right?"

"I did. All of it."

"Bet your husband never made you come like that, did he?"

"No, he never has."

"Heh - ever let him fuck you in the ass like that? Does he even know you
get off on it?"

"No, he never asks me. I didn't know I liked it, until last night."

"Guess I did him a favor then, huh? Now he knows. Now when I'm gone he
can get some. Hell, I think you like it better in the ass than in your
pussy, girl."

"I just didn't know before - maybe, if he wants to, we will..."

"So, you want that, hubby? Want to fuck your wife in the ass, now that
you know I made her like it?"

I want to tell him he's a rapist and he's lying, and that I'll kill him.
But he's taped my mouth shut. I mumble all that behind the tape. And he
laughs at me.

"Yup - I'm pretty sure your hubby's thanking me for breaking you in,
girl. Go over there and sit on his lap. Tell him he can have your ass any
time he wants it, but only after I leave."

She sits on my lap. Her body is naked and cool to the touch, and I wish
my hands were free. Her words are loving and sexy, like when she wants
sex in the middle of the day.

"You can have me like that, in my ass, any time you want. You can do it
when he leaves. I promise."

Before she gets a chance to finish he's pulling on her nipples and
grinning. She wants to say more, but stops and sighs. She's leaning back
against the arm of my chair now, her firm butt grinding into my lap. His
hand is between her legs, kneading her pussy. I look down along her body
and see how wet his fingers are. She spreads her legs as far as she can
and lets him in. Her eyes are closed. Her nipples are hard little buttons
thrusting upward, inches from my face. He's masturbating her, his thick
forearm stretching down her belly, probing fingers buried inside her. I
feel her shaking, twitching, breathing, trying to speak. Words and gasps.
Words and gasps. For me or him?

"You - you can - take me - my ass - any time - any time... "

Her hips shudder and thrust into the air as she comes, sucking his
fingers inside her. Taking his hand and working his fingers into her like
the cock she wishes she could have at that very moment. Does she remember
she's on my lap, touching me, promising me her ass? She collapses and
sighs one final time, takes his face in her hands, and kisses him
sloppily and deeply. They're inches from me, but I'm not there. She's
naked, wet, exhausted, and the kiss goes on forever. I try to work my
hands free, to touch her, to feel her wet pussy. But his are the only
hands that can play with her.

-*-

She was so frightened then. I remember how she sobbed and trembled that
first day when he held her. She was so small and fragile against his
enormous, heavily muscled body. Yes, he had the gun. But it was more than
that. He was rude and rough. For a man on the run, he was cool and
calculating, but I could see he had a way with women. A way that some men
are born with. A way some women can't resist. Why did she give in so
soon? Did she see that in him too?

He played with her that day. Kissing her. Teasing her. Fondling her
through her nightshirt. Telling her what he expected from his
girlfriends, and that we'd be safe if she understood - if she was his
whore. Because to him "girlfriend" and "whore" was the same thing, if she
was a "righteous" girlfriend. Her voice was halting and tentative when
she agreed to be the whore he expected her to be. She never looked up at
him. When he asked her if she liked big cocks, she told him she did. But
she never looked up. When he asked if she fantasized about bigger cocks
than mine, she told him she did. But she never looked up. When he
demanded to know whether I satisfied her, whether I was "man enough" for
her, she went silent, then, as if knowing what he wanted from her, told
him I wasn't. I was sure I saw a tear on her cheek then. But she wiped it
quickly when he wasn't looking, and stared at the carpet.

He tired of games that night. He walked me to the bathroom, told her to
hold my dick while I pissed, then walked me back, tying my ankles to the
chair legs. He didn't drag her to the bedroom. He just said, "Come on,
girlfriend. Show me what you got." She followed him in, and he slammed
the door.

She never wore the nightshirt again. She was naked the next morning -
naked while she made him breakfast, naked while they sat across from me
and ate. He pushed her knees apart so I could see. She kept them like
that, wide open. His come seeped from her, oozing, stopping, then pouring
more steadily, as though some natural contraction in her belly was
expelling it. I couldn't look away. It clung to the soft tufts of her
pubic hair, glistening, pearly white, then falling in long, sticky
strings to her inner thighs. There was so much of it. It went on for as
long as I watched. I looked away, defeated, disgusted. And when I looked
again, her pretty slit was soaking in it. Drowning in it. Hidden under a
sea of white jelly that must have been home to a billion sperm.

-*-

Back to his games now. Leading her on with talk about big cocks and how
she wants them. It's frightening how easy it's getting for her to give
him the right answers. Today I really wonder if she means what she tells
him. She's so comfortable being naked around him now. I see her smiling
when he tells her how pretty her pussy is. She's trying to hide a smile
again right now, but I see it.

He wants to know if she's ever cheated on me. Who? When? Did he have a
big cock? She's sitting across from me. Her legs are open. He keeps her
pussy shaved now, and I can see it pouting at me. A tiny sparkle of
moisture, a glittering bead between her plump lips. She tells him no, she
hasn't cheated. But he insists, over and over. He tells her he knows she
has, with a body and a pretty pussy like hers. Now she's quiet, staring
into her lap. Oh fuck, no. She gives him a name - the young smart ass
I've been mentoring at work. He wants to know if the kid's cock is bigger
than mine. She says it is, as though she doesn't even have to think about
it.

He's grilling her, but she's done confessing. She looks embarrassed. He's
sitting beside her now, rubbing her pussy, putting his fingers in her.
She looks right at him now. She's breathing hard, trying to stay in
control. But he doesn't stop. He's rubbing her clit and licking her neck
and up over her ear where she likes it. "OK - OK," she says. She's
telling him everything. How he comes to our house and fucks her in our
bed when I'm not here. That he's a stud in bed. Big. So big, and stays so
hard for so long. That he's been fucking her for months, every week,
sometimes three times. He asks if she loves him. She says no, he's just a
great lay. I catch another faint smile again when she says it. Jesus.

He asks if we have a camera, and she shows him mine, a new expensive SLR
with a bag of lenses. He tells her a real girlfriend models for her man,
and I'm stunned when she agrees. He puts her on the large square coffee
table in the middle of the room. She's above me now, naked, standing
there, wondering what she should do. He's telling her how to pose, bent
over, holding her pussy open, fingering herself, hands under her tits,
offering them to the camera. He gets some ice cubes to make her nipples
hard, and she squeals when he touches them to her sensitive skin. He's
taking close-ups now, her mouth open, eyes closed, holding her hard
nipples up for the camera to remember. "Pretend you're coming," he tells
her. "Pretend his big dick is in you." I see her head fall back, her
hands tighten over her breasts, and hear her let out a tiny moan. She's
writhing on the table now, on her belly, on her back, hands stroking her
inner thighs, then working her fingers into her wet slit. Click - click -
click - click. So many pictures of her slutty performance. So many poses
for him to remember her by. The wife he's made his girlfriend.

They go to the computer to upload the photos. She walks right by me, a
foot away. God she's wet. I listen to them playing in the den. He's
teasing her, but she's quiet. He wants to send the pictures to the kid I
work with, but she says no. He tells her a real girlfriend would be OK
with it. "Besides," he says, "the kid's seen you naked lots of times."
She's quiet, hesitating. I know she lied about the kid just to please
him. She'll never do it. She doesn't have his email address. I hear her
make this noise, a soft hmmmm.... It's quiet now, except for her little
gasps and heavy breathing. He warns her if she wants to come, she has to
click "Send". Then the tiny, little girl voice again. "OK - there." So
the kid's real. Him fucking her is real. And his huge cock is real. I can
hear her coming now as it all sinks in. I'm sure the photos will pass
through everyone's hands at work. And I know they'll all want to fuck
her.

I know it was hard for her to do the things he wanted that first day. I
could see it on her face. In her eyes. Maybe he took her trembling for
excitement rather than fear. It seemed to encourage him. Every move she
made. Every time she was forced to kiss him. The look of surrender after
he fucked her. Her numb submission the second day, then the third. His
rules, rules he expected of a "righteous girlfriend", became second
nature to her. Her constant presence, naked, shaved, and compliant,
became routine. She tried her best to hide her embarrassment for a while.
I saw the blush on her cheeks, the frowns and tears on her face, always
turned away, hidden from him to obey the only way she was allowed.
Embarrassment seemed to give way to an accepted loss of privacy. Keeping
her legs open for him at all times, her shaved pussy always on display,
seemed to be a learned habit. A habit she grew not to mind. But I knew
she still considered it a sacrifice she made for our safety.

There must have been rules I didn't know about. Rules he made her agree
to in private, in our bed, late at night. During the day she sucked him
again and again, as though she was given a schedule. She simply went to
her knees, opened his pants, and swallowed his come. He thought she began
to enjoy it. I knew she was just learning to be efficient, to shorten the
time on her knees, to avoid the lingering taste of him, the time with her
lips stretched around his hard cock. Swallowing his semen must have been
the worst for her. I knew she hated that. But she did that too as time
passed, without the gagging and choking. He rewarded her with flattery
when she performed for him. He stroked her hair and kissed her, and she'd
put her hands on his shoulders to convince him she gave herself to him
willingly.

They tied me to the toilet with my pants down when they went out. Hours
passed before they'd return. He'd tell her how the clothes he bought for
her suited her now. Not the clothes of a boring housewife. The clothes of
a slutty, righteous girlfriend. Clothes for when she went to fuck her
young stud. They took her old clothes from the closet and cut them into
pieces. All her bras and panties as well, destroyed in front of me in a
giant pile of scraps. He watched with sick fascination as she put all of
it in the garbage, still naked, leaving her "boring housewife" life
behind. He praised her, kissed her, then fucked her in front of me. All
the while there were his reminders, his threats. "You my righteous
girlfriend? You givin' it all to me?" She wrapped her legs around him and
whispered she was. I knew it as a lie.

-*-

I'm watching through the window, still tied to my chair, as she washes
our car. He dressed her in this tiny white crop top and tight cotton
shorts and dumped a bucket of soapy water over her before she started.
Every time she bends over her breasts fall out of the top, slippery and
soapy, her nipples bright red in the afternoon sun. The top and shorts
turned transparent when he soaked her. I can see her round ass as though
nothing covers it. I can see the outline of her plump pussy lips. Now and
then they escape from the legs of drenched shorts as she reaches across
the hood of the car. He's standing inside beside me, grinning, telling me
how the three young guys across the street are watching too. They're
shooting hoops in the cul-de-sac, shirtless and sweaty in the hot sun. I
see them sneaking looks at her, laughing and likely sharing comments
about her body. I wonder what they're saying. Wonder what they're
thinking. They know us - not well, but well enough. She's always been the
cute housewife who lives across the street. Not anymore. Now she's the
hot little slut, showing off while her husband's away. Why would they
think anything else?

He goes to the door, sticks his head out and talks to her for a few
seconds, then comes back beside me. She drops the sponge into the plastic
bucket and wanders slowly to the curb, then across the street. They're
grinning and laughing now, standing in a tight circle around her. My God,
her body's mouthwatering, shiny, slippery, and wet from head to toe. They
toss the ball to her, and she stands there for a few seconds, waiting for
their game to begin. She takes a few steps, trying to dribble, then loses
the ball when it hits her foot. They all just stand back and drool as she
bends to recover the ball. Her tits fall out of the bottom of the crop
top, and the wet material sticks to her, still exposing her breasts when
she finally hefts the ball at the rim. The game goes on. It's an X-rated
comedy to the guys. My half-naked wife pretending she can play. They
brush against her, then get bolder. Their hands on her ass. Their palms
on her tits as they play "defense". She's not complaining. She's not
avoiding their pawing. She's laughing with them. Bending and twisting her
body for them to ogle and grope. My God - why?

"Bet they never knew your wife was so friendly," he says to me. "Maybe
she can get some young cock right across the street from now on. Think
she'll still want to fuck your buddy at work?"

I know it's just his game. I know she has to play. I know it will end
soon. But the boys she's playing with don't know. Their game slows and
ends. They circle around her again and chat, staring, grinning. She tugs
at her top, but it's begun to unravel and now shows her nipples at the
border of the soaking wet top in spite of her tugs. Her tiny shorts have
worked loose and ride low on her hips, almost down to the top of her
shaved pussy. Her wet belly looks delicious. They head inside. She
follows them, leaving the ball by the curb.

"What do you think, sport?" he tells me. "Wanna lay odds on whether
they're gettin' some of that tight married pussy? How 'bout odds on
whether she's lovin' all that young cock?" He can torture me all he
wants. I know she's just doing what she's told, playing his game. I know
she'll be home soon after pretending to tease them, pretending it was all
innocent fun. He moves me away from the window and I wait for her to come
home. A long time. I'm still waiting.

I'm thinking now, obsessing really. Imagining her on her hands and knees,
taking one of them doggie-style while another one pushes his cock into
her throat. Her firm little body is naked, her ass upturned to accept the
young cock, her mouth eager to lick and suck while the first pumps his
load into her. They've ripped the clothes from her and use her over and
over again. And she lets them. Maybe she even likes it. And I notice my
own dick stirring, fighting its way out of a cramped ball inside my
pants. What if she loves it? What if he's won? What if she is the
"righteous girlfriend" he's trained her to be? It's sick to admit it
excites me. I just can't. But why is my dick hard?

He parades her in front of me when she comes home. She's weak, exhausted,
half-naked in the battered top and the tiny, wrinkled shorts. I watch as
he slips the shorts down her thighs. I see her pussy - red, swollen, and
drenched with the boys' come. He reaches between her legs, spreads her
engorged pussy lips, and thick strings of semen erupt and fall slowly to
the carpet. My erection is my nightmare. I can't help it. Spots of
precome leak through my pants as they stand in front of me watching. He's
telling her to look at me, that I like it - that I've given her to him,
to all of them. A smile grows on her face just before he takes her hand
and leads her to our bedroom to fuck her.

I never knew where they went when he took her out. He always dressed her
in the clothes he bought her. Skimpy, slutty clothes she would never had
worn before. He paraded her in front of me each time. She twirled and
posed like he wanted. At night - tiny skirts with no panties. Deeply cut
blouses without bras. Outrageous stiletto heels that flaunted the shape
of her calves and thighs as she strutted back and forth. During the day,
thin, almost transparent summer dresses, clinging to her body, screaming
there was never a bra or panties underneath. White elastic shorts without
legs, stretched skin-tight over her round ass, molding her shaved pussy
to show off every fold and the moist crevice between them. Halter tops
and crop tops that barely contained her swaying breasts, the outline,
shape, and color of her nipples always on display.

I knew what people saw when they looked at her. How men would react, how
much they would all want to fuck her. But the nights were the worst. He'd
bring her home drunk, her clothes wrinkled and torn, her hair tangled and
matted with semen. He'd tell her to strip and dance for him. She'd writhe
in front of us, naked, giggling, and stumbling. She'd be wet between her
legs, red and horny, her nipples hard and raging. I'd never seen her need
sex so desperately as when she danced for him. It was as though her body
ached for him and she didn't care who knew it - even me.

Eventually, during the day when she was sober she'd stare into my eyes as
she squirmed and pranced. It was a fierce look I had never seen from her.
She'd smile - wide, hungrily, almost cruelly as she kept her eyes locked
on mine. Then she'd look down at my lap where my erection threatened to
bust through my pants. They were hideous moments. I couldn't help it. I
didn't want her to think I had given in, that she might now really be his
righteous girlfriend. But she was a woman I no longer knew. A luscious,
slutty, woman who danced naked for other men. She'd reach down and touch
my dick through my pants - just for a moment, then retreat to where he
stood and kissed him deeply, grinding her pussy against his cock.

Those times ate away at me. Remembering them afterwards was like
recalling a nightmare, one interrupted with segments that were too
horrific to relive. I was showered with torrents of fear, anger, and
jealousy, all shrouded in the embarrassment and shame of knowing the raw
excitement was real. Denying it would be a lie, but so would accepting my
wife as his whore. Sometimes the following day she'd be tentative but
willing again, naked and obedient to him, but never the slut I remembered
from the night before. She'd never look at me, never talk to me, and the
hint of worry was always on her face. Day followed each night, and my
nerves began to fray. The image of the woman I knew became unfocused, as
well as my sense of what it all meant to me. My ability to make
decisions, my sense of right and wrong, my grasp of our past and surreal
present all began to dissolve into muddled confusion. I had no choice. I
had no power.

At first she begged me not to contact the police. She was embarrassed,
humiliated, she told me. Finally, she sat beside me that evening, placed
her hand on my thigh, and explained.

"He wasn't a real criminal. The gun wasn't loaded. But I need you to
listen, and try to understand. I dated him before you knew me. I guess he
was the wild kind of guy I used to make my parents see red. And that did
work - so well I had to sneak out to see him. I was a virgin, and he was
my first. We both changed so much over the years. We kept in touch, but
never had sex after I married you. I never told you. He wasn't the kind
of guy you told your husband about, I guess.

"I met your coworker this summer at your company picnic. He flirted with
me, but not until you weren't around. There was this chemistry between us
from the start, and I guess I flirted back a little. You didn't seem to
notice. You're never jealous when other men pay attention to me. In fact,
sometimes I think you almost encourage it, the way you leave me alone
with them. Anyway, he was so much younger than me, so I tried to forget
all about it. But I couldn't. I dreamed about him, over and over. During
the day, I'd get wet thinking about how he looked at me, about the things
he said to me. I know it was crazy, but I couldn't get over him.

"Later, when you brought him home to work together those nights, we'd
stare at each other when you weren't looking. It was agonizing. Those big
eyes of his practically promised he'd have sex with me. Sometimes I
actually avoided him so you wouldn't notice. I had so much trouble
controlling myself. One night you invited him to stay and watch football
on TV. For some reason, you decided to go out to get beer and left us
alone. I thought you just hadn't noticed he had flirted with me in the
past and you felt it was safe to leave us alone together. Honestly, I
didn't understand why you couldn't see I wanted him so badly. All the
signs were there.

"It just kind of happened. We kissed minutes after you left. I don't
think we said a word to each other the entire time. He unfastened my
jeans and put his hand inside my panties, and I just lost it. I let him
pull my panties down and play with me. Then he put his mouth between my
legs, and I had this sudden, hard orgasm, one like I've never had before.
I was wild and definitely not thinking about when you'd be back. I opened
his pants and sucked him as he played with my hair and neck. God, I would
have done anything for him. After he came in my mouth, I think we both
knew you'd be back soon, so we got dressed and pretended nothing had
happened.

"I was still wet when you made love to me that night. I was worried you'd
notice, but you didn't. In fact, I think it excited you more than usual.
I couldn't imagine why. I was so relieved I survived the night without
you knowing what we did while you were out. But then he called me the
next day, from your office. He said you were in a meeting. He told me he
wanted to fuck me. Not only that - he wanted to do other things to me,
things that got me so wet. I agreed to meet him for lunch that day, and
we had sex in a hotel room downtown near your building. From there it got
easier. We met at lunch almost every day. I was helpless to refuse him.
To refuse him anything, I guess. When you traveled, he came here. We had
sex in our bed, two - no, three times. When you came home, I'd look at
the clean sheets at night and think of what he did to me there in our
bed. Then you'd make love to me, and I'd feel relieved that you were here
and that I'd fucked him for the last time. That you'd never find out.
That it might finally be over. But it never was.

"I didn't know what to do, how to stop. I was a mess - so frightened you
would catch us, yet I needed sex with him so badly. Then the day came
when I used your laptop when my battery died. You were at work, and I was
searching for romance stories for my Kindle. I was that horny. I stumbled
on some past searches - searches for "hotwife" and "cuckold" stories. I'm
not sure whether I was more shocked or relieved when I read some of them.
You never told me about these fantasies. Why? But I began to understand
why you were never jealous when men flirted with me. I wondered whether
you didn't notice the attraction he and I had for each other, or whether
you saw it and secretly encouraged it. I wondered if when you left us
alone that night you fantasized about what we might do while you were
gone. And why you were gone so long.

"I was so desperate, and suddenly everything seemed to fall into place -
my ex-boyfriend as the intruder, exposing my affair with your coworker,
creating your darkest fantasy, live, in front of you. Those stories I
found always turned the innocent wife into a sexy slut for other men as
her husband watched. I took parts from a few of them, wove them together
into a plot, called my ex to play the bully, and our dirty play was born.
But could I play the part? It was depraved, but I thought it just might
work.

"I found the deeper I went over those days, the more exciting it became.
I mean, I could see playing all of it in front of you - my fear and
humiliation at first, followed by my change into the slut-wife in those
stories - was working. You were so cute - so hard, yet trying not to show
it. I know it hurt finding out about your coworker and me, but I hoped
weaving it into the fantasy might make it easier, and also that you might
eventually look the other way. In fact, by that time I was pretty sure
you could if you found out.

"You see, my obsession with him fucking me hasn't gone away. To be
honest, he's not exactly like you in bed. Now, you're wonderful in your
own way. I love making love with you - and just fucking you. But, he -
well - fills me. It's simply the way he's made. You see, he's bigger than
you - well thicker, actually. Not by a lot, but enough to make a
difference. My ex is really huge - even bigger - but I guess you know
that now. And honestly, fucking my ex again was a new kind of high,
seeing your face each time we kissed, each time I sucked him. Seeing you
so helpless, so confused that your dick was hard and leaking for me.

"But this was different. The first time he entered me it was like
flipping a switch. The way he filled and stretched me was suddenly
overpowering. It was like I was being "taken" like an animal takes a mate
- primal, brutal, but ultimately satisfying at the same time. That
feeling has never gone away, no matter how many times we've fucked. Maybe
it's partly because he isn't my husband, and partly because in a natural
way, he's a lot like my ex - the man who "broke in" and didn't think
twice about fucking me in front of you.

"Now each time I make love, I compare the two of you. The differences
between you are more obvious, more predictable, and more satisfying. I
have a husband who fucks me one way, and a lover who fucks me another.
Neither is better. He has a bigger penis, but you have a bigger heart.
And knowing your heart as I do, and that familiar growing bulge in your
pants, I'm betting that instead of getting angry at me for everything
I've done, you just want to fuck me..."

Thanks, Deanna. The very first time L was with another man I was there by the bed, stroking her hair, kissing her. At the time she really needed that. In the middle of all the swirling angst and uncertainty for both of us, they were sweet and tender moments we'll both always remember. That doesn't happen much anymore, as L has gained the confidence to seduce and play with men on her own ground. Even when I watch, I don't actively participate. But every now and then, when she's with a guy we both know, it's great to hold her or kiss her while she comes with him. A bit of a throwback to when we started, but as we've become better at the games and role playing, and all that's become more sophisticated and kinky, intimate knowing moments together are among the most satisfying and erotic.